


I Think I Want To

by ninhursag



Series: Possessive Charms [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Femdom, Feral Behavior, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Leonard Snart Lives, Possessive Behavior, Protective Mick Rory, Protective Sara Lance, Scars, Submission, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:43:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: Sara and Leonard try to talk. Or dance around it.And there is sex that is vastly undernegotiated when it really shouldn't be.Mick tries to protect them from the consequences but they out idiot him. The long-term effects of trauma linger.Semiferal, angry and possessive Sara. Yeilding but kind of an asshole Len. But they do like each other a lot! They're just bad at this.





	I Think I Want To

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains heavily implied physical, emotional and sexual trauma that is not explicitly discussed or on screen but informs the behavior of the characters.
> 
> Also contains sex fantasies that would severely up the stakes on some of the tags if they were acted on.
> 
> Mick loves Len but doesn't say so. Sara can't decide if she wants to fuck Len up or wrap him up in a blanket. Len careens from being 50-95% there for this and then back again.

Gideon cleared her of the drug, but not the urges. Like whatever happened triggered something deep and awful that was just part of Sara.

The urge to take what was hers. Like Leonard was hers. If she could get at him.

Mick made it look casual, so much that it took Sara a while to notice he always ran interference. Kept her away.

He's just there, legs propped up on the breakfast table, arranged between her and Leonard and laughing when Stein makes a face at him and mutters that “people eat there Mr. Rory.”

Taking up too much space and dropping the right hints to get Ray Palmer and his boundless enthusiasm to work tinkering with wires in the engine room, which somehow always managed to get Leonard and Jax involved. Just to get him out of Sara's way.

Angled carelessly next to Leonard when they are playing cards later. Mick doesn't have his own hand, but he is shameless about looking over what they have and sniggering or whistling depending on what it was.

“You're annoying, Mick,” Leonard said so she didn't have to. “Buzz off.”

Mick grinned at him. “I live to annoy you, buddy.”

Actually, he apparently lived to cock block Sara. And mostly to friend block her too. It was like he knew exactly what she'd dreamed about at night, where she held Leonard at knifepoint and stripped him and then she... 

But this was to the point where she straight up looked him in the eye when he'd literally blocked her from walking after Leonard down a hall with the worst excuse yet.

“I'm pretty sure you can open your own beer, Rory. And if Gideon cut you off, I won't override her,” she said. “What are you trying to pull? Are you jealous or did Leonard ask you to play chaperone?”

Mick grinned and didn't move aside. “Neither, Blondie. I'm just looking out for my partner. He ain't going to ask.”

She sighed. “What is it you think I'm going to do to Captain Cold, exactly?” 

“I dunno. What did you do in that abber-- abomination-- messed up timeline that wound up with him all messed up and in a fucking cage?” Mick's smile had too many teeth. 

And, after, after she'd left Leonard in a cage, with half his clothes sliced off, bruised and bloody, Mick had given him his coat. Buttoned it up and then Leonard was better, cool and easy like he knew he was safe. He was still wearing Mick's coat, days later.

“I don't want to hurt him. Didn't want to. I just wanted to--” protect, keep, own, touch. Hold down, handcuff, cage up and strip naked. And keep safe from everyone but me. Kill everyone else who ever put their hands on him. “I wasn't me. You weren't exactly gentle with him when you were brainwashed. He wasn't exactly gentle with any of us.” Too much drugging and brainwashing and alternate selves going around.

Mick just shrugged. He reached into his pocket and she wondered if he was toying with his lighter. 

“I've been keeping that idiot from suicide by dumbass since he was fifteen. Didn't always work out well but he's here now. I'm invested.”

Sara smiled. “So you are jealous.”

Mick shook his head easily. “Nah, Birdie. I can share if that's what he wants. But you don't get to fuck him over.”

A red haze, vaguely familiar. She'd known, it was no secret that Mick and Len had their thing. Old and deep. Deeper than she'd ever get under Leonard's skin while Mick was already there. Already dressed him in his clothes, already stood in front of him and stood up for him. Since they were fifteen.

“Well. Maybe I'm jealous,” she said out loud.

Mick shook his head. “I don't own Len. I don't want to. That isn't our thing.”

“I do. Want to. It's my thing.” It felt weird to say the words out loud. To the person she wanted to own's best friend, best… partner.

Mick made a pointed humming sound. “So ask him if he's up for being owned.” Like they both didn't already know the answer was no, that he'd rather blast his own hand off than be kept. He might pretend though. If she asked.

He might let her...

 

Leonard was the one who finally got her alone in the end. Two AM in the timestream and she was awake and going over supplies.

“Hey Sara,” he said, body held loose and aggressively causal. “You're awake.” The bruises on his face were finally mostly healed, just black and yellow traces. He settled himself in a chair next to hers.

“So are you. You don't have your chaperone.”

“I dosed his beer. He needs at least twelve hours of sleep and to stop following me around.”

“You're still wearing his coat.”

“I like wearing the coat.” He smiled. It wasn't one of his nice smiles. “I won't stop fucking Mick, just to get that out of the way. You and me. Me and you. That's our thing, wherever it goes. But me and him are me and him.”

His fingers tapped restlessly like he was looking for something to fiddle with. He'd probably end up with the contents of her pockets in his coat without her noticing.

“So not exclusive,” she said. Not that it was a surprise. She considered it, let the wanting haze, the anger and need in her brain really play with the idea. Mick was her crew too, after all. So they were both hers in a way. “Ok,” she finally conceded. “I can live with that. Anything else?”

“Do we need to talk about anything else?” He asked, eyebrows raised. His eyes were mostly pupil in the dim light, with a thin ring of blue.

“Probably,” she snorted a laugh. He grinned at her, a real smile. Pushed his chair closer to her. It was easy enough to kiss him from that angle.

There was this momentary flinch at the first touch that she was recognizing was just a thing he did. Involuntary, and it came at every touch that was a little too gentle, however wanted he made it look. But he didn't try to pull away. He kissed back instead.

It was still gentle. Slow, warm press of lips. She could be careful, she didn't need to break everything she put her hands on.

His mouth was warm, open, lips parted on the second kiss. His close cropped hair was coarse under her fingers, not enough of it to hold onto. His arms stayed at his sides, not grabbing back, even while his body leaned into hers.

“I want to suck you off,” she told him, frankly, and licked her lips a little at the thought.

He grinned and leaned back a little, letting his legs fall open. Causal, inviting. She stood up. Stepped between them.

Put her hands on his chest and felt that instinctive, reflexive flinch again before he relaxed. The smug smile never wavered on his mouth.

“That's just the start of what I want,” she warned.

“It's a good start,” he drawled. 

Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt. Soft, body warmed cotton. She reached for the hem, remembering the hint of skin underneath, bruised and scarred, exposed. 

“Leave it on,” he said. It was firm, his voice. But his hands stayed by his sides. Clenched and unclenched. A dark part of her knew he'd probably let her if she pushed enough. 

She nodded anyway. Touched his cheek instead, thumb over the plane of it. Fingers tracing down the skin of his face. Stubble and skin, the line of his nose, strong jaw, a plush, soft mouth.

His eyes were bright. His lips parted for her fingers. Letting her. His tongue gentle on the skin of them. She slid one finger in. Two. Three.

He made a sound. A wet sound, saliva leaking where she held his mouth open, pushed it wide enough he couldn't swallow. She wondered how wide he could open up for a cock. Mick Rory's cock had been here, in this mouth. Made him like this.

How many others? She pulled her fingers off, still watching his eyes. He swallowed then, visibly while she wiped her fingers on his skin, spreading his spit.

“Thought you wanted to suck me off,” he grumbled. Eyes on hers. 

She grinned. Didn't look away but let her hand drift down. “I will. Want to mess you up first.”

He shifted when she let her palm run against the lump in his jeans. Made a noise. He didn't flinch when she ground down hard. 

“What can I take off?” She asked. “Same as before?” Last time she'd barely unzipped him. Just enough to get his cock out.

He made a face. Shrugged. She could see the moment he braced himself, like a kid who was going to follow a dare.

“I'll do it,” he said and he did. Unzipped his jeans and shimmied out of them, not sexy about it, but certain. His shirt stayed on, and his boxers.

There were tattoos on his calves. Smooth and intricate. He'd been bare for that, to get inked like that, bare for hours. Days. “You must have the most intimate relationship in your life with whoever does your ink,” she said.

He laughed at that, genuine. “Yeah. Her, prison docs, and the guys who do strip searches at Iron Heights. The old spread and grope. And the assholes in the showers.”

Her breathe catches at the thought. Strip searches. A gun in her belt, maybe in a uniform, him sneering and defiant and helpless. Getting to watch.

Of course that happened. And it wouldn't have been sexy. It would have been sordid and humiliating. Some fat guard with a beer belly getting hard in his kakis and telling Len to bend over, spread himself. It makes her angry, wanting to beat that unnamed man-- men-- bloody. It makes her wet. Wanting to be those people and get to do that to him.

Strip him, shame him. Take away the smug certainty of his own power. Except someone had.

Leonard was laughing at her and looked the last thing from stripped. “You want to role-play, Lance? Play Doctor? Or cops and robbers? I promise it isn't actually like they show it in porn and I don't fuck any of those people.”

He stopped laughing when she pulled his cock out of his boxers and palmed it.

“I'm going to fuck you up,” she told him. “I don't need a dick, don't worry.”

She put her mouth on him and he shuddered. She could touch the skin of his thighs. Smooth muscle and rough patches. Cuts and burns that healed wrong. She didn't linger. 

She licked him carefully, from head to balls. It was a nice dick, curved and thick enough. Veined, but not too much. Long. Like he was. “So pretty, Lenny,” she told him.

He growled. “Don't call me that, you sound like my sister. Dicks aren't pretty.”

“Yours is,” she told him honestly. Licked again. Then opened up for it.

It took a long time to learn this trick, to make this about taking, not getting taken. Opening her throat and letting him in, no choking. The control of it, the sound he made, deep and desperate. 

The way he let her, didn't try to move, the way she didn't have to tell him not to thrust. The way his ass flexed where she gripped him. His hands, beautiful and strong, clenched at his sides.

She could make him come. It was late and he might not be up for round two. But fuck it, she could make him come.

He tried to pull her off, a noise of warning, but she held on to him and he sighed.

The sound he made, tight and desperate. The taste of him, bitter and heavy. She spat it out into the trash and smiled at him.

He was still splayed out legs wide, sweat beaded on his skin. Eyes closed. 

She touched him gently on the thigh. The half expected flinch didn't come, he just smiled a little, eyelashes fluttering. She had a moment to look. Just look at bare skin. The evidence of violence. 

His voice was deeper, sweeter, when he spoke. “Was that fun, Sara?” The smile was smugger when he opened his eyes.

She laughed, “You're pretty when you come too, you smug fucker.” 

“Well so are you. So. Can I make you come?” There was easy confidence in his body when he moved now. Like the orgasm had sorted out something in his head.

“Do your best,” she told him.

And that's how she ended up with her legs in the air and his face between them. His clipped hair tickling her thighs and his hot clever mouth bringing her off.

Ended up tugging him to her room, to her bed.

He was the one who touched her scars afterwards. Frowning a little. She sighed and let him, the touch he offered so much gentler than what he'd accept.

“You've been through it,” he said, fingers grazing over where an arrow had torn her apart. One of the wounds that had killed her.

“Six years of hell,” she said and looked away. “Then some more being a vigilante. Then getting murdered. Everything after.” Not all of it was hell, for everything it cost her. But they should have let her die.

But then she wouldn't be here, with this ship and this man. She caught his hand. “But you knew this about me So why do you think I'd care about your scars?”

He tilted an eyebrow and looked away. “I don't think you do. It's not about you.”

She settled in next to him and he startled, flinched again. Steadied himself. His arm wrapped around her after a moment of quiet.

“So what is it about?”

She expected a kiss off, some asshole insult, but his arm was around her and he was in her bed, quiet in the dark. Maybe he wasn't that person anymore.

“A lot of my scars are from being a crook. But a lot more are from being a thing. An ashtray, a punching bag. A human lockpick. And. Something to… keep in a cage, but you weld it shut and throw away the key.”

Her rage flared up. Breathed harder. He sighed. “I don't need you to be angry about this. Everyone who needed killing, I got. Or Mick did.”

“What do you need?” she managed to say. It almost made her want to lash out at him though. That he was here and damaged like that and she'd never get revenge. Even though he'd gotten it. She'd never get to do that for him.

She didn't know if he picked up on that. He said, “I don't need anything. I don't want to think about that shit when I'm with someone I picked. That's really it.”

“So, what you never have sex naked? Because that's not drawing attention to the issue and making you think about it?” Sara asked straight out because beating around it was getting nowhere.

He smirked at her. Eyes narrow. “My choice. And no. Not if the sex was my idea.” There was something so defensive in the set of his shoulders. The curl of his mouth.

“What if it was your partner's?” she asked, and wondered herself why she was pushing this. She did want it, but not enough to be this much of a jerk about it.

He rolled his eyes. “Not if it was my idea,” he repeated, like she was being an idiot. “If it's an option on the menu, I'd rather order something else.”

“Not even with Mick?”

A pause. His eyes turned thoughtful, not offended. Tight set of his shoulders eased. And this was it, this was his key. “He never asked me to.” Then he shrugged, hand waving over himself. “It's not like he hasn't seen, just not in that context.” Right. Prison showers. 

“What if Mick was there? Would it be an option you'd consider ordering?”

He laughed, sharp and certain. All the hesitation banished. “Yeah. I would do that. Is that really an option you'd consider, though? Thought you wanted to own me and now you want someone else involved?”

“I want to keep you safe, Len. When we do this. I'm not always safe. I can't always remember to be careful.” The urges. He had them too, she knew. Get him twitchy and stressed enough and he'd have everyone's wallets and most of their secrets. 

But not generally dead. Not generally the things she keeps imagining doing to him, the ways she wants to break him. And the uncertainty of whether he would try to stop her unless he decided it was for her own good.

He rolled his eyes. “I don't need a babysitter, Sara. Not at all. Not with you.”

“You think I missed the part where you would have let me kill you?” she asked, shaking her head.

“So what, you think I need a human safeword?” he responded, incredulous. “Like when you thought you needed to protect my nonexistent honor? How about nah.”

“So you don't like the idea?” She asked, trying a different tactic. “Of both of us? You said you would a minute ago.”

He looked away. “Maybe I don't. Not like this.”

“Think about it,” she said.

He shrugged. “Why couldn't you want something easy, like fucking me with a strap on?”

That made her laugh. Take a breath. The edge of tension broken. “Maybe I just assumed I was green lit for that.”

He stayed a little longer and they talked shop instead. Supplies and strategies. Time anomalies. It was easier that way. It was almost breakfast time before he put on his pants and walked out the door. 

She lay back in her bed, catching a few minutes of privacy before she dressed herself. Fingers on her own clit and imagined him, bitten lip, naked and undone. Maybe the strap on would be next. 

She could be patient.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on dreamwidth @ https://ninhursag.dreamwidth.org/


End file.
